


finders keepers

by pansystan



Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Genre: Alternate Universe - Modern Setting, Alternate Universe - Modern: No Powers, F/M, Fake/Pretend Relationship, Modern AU, fake dating au, t for language
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-12-03
Updated: 2018-12-03
Packaged: 2019-09-05 22:55:27
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 10,114
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/16820101
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/pansystan/pseuds/pansystan
Summary: What's the best way to win an argument with your dad? According to Pansy Parkinson hire the most inappropriate looking guy you can find to play your boyfriend at his yearly garden party.What to do when you find you don'treally wantyour father to disapprove any more is less clear.





	finders keepers

**Author's Note:**

> So this was supposed to be a quick little drabble, needless to say, it got a little (read: a lot) out of hand. Thank you to Grammarly for always being there for me, and to Shelly & Asiya for helping with the name bc we all know I can't name fics for shit.

The heat was almost unbearable and the backs of Harry's cargo shorts were pasted to his legs with sweat as he shifted uncomfortably in the sticky leather seat at his local Starbucks. His watery filter coffee sat untouched on the tacky black table top in front of him, next to it his laptop screen blinked back at him, a miserable shade of blue that indicated it was beyond rescue. Harry sighed and scrubbed at his unshaven face; it was shaping up to be a monumentally shitty day.

The bell above the door jingled and a girl in a respectable black dress and ridiculously large tortoiseshell sunglasses entered, she was wearing dark glossy lipstick, despite the heat, and her dark hair was pulled back into a small knot at the nape of her neck. A brunette girl in a far less elegant dress, talking on the phone and looked harried, accompanied her.

The dark haired girl scanned the shop, and Harry turned hurriedly back to his deceased laptop and now-lukewarm coffee as to not meet her eye. Apparently, he wasn't fast enough as the click of her heels told him that she was approaching, and, moments later, her shadow fell across his table. Harry glanced up; the girl hadn't bothered to remove her sunglasses.

"Are you busy?" She asked, without any preamble.

"Uh –" Harry began, but she interrupted him before he had a chance to reply.

"You don't look it," she continued. "Unless you're intending on staring helplessly at your laptop all day like some sort of performance art."

"I was actually working on something…" Harry started, but she cut him off with a sceptical look at his blue screen.

"My father and I are like, locked in an epic battle of wills, or whatever," she said. "I'm having lunch with him today. I need you to be my boyfriend."

"What?" Harry asked, aghast.

"I'd pay you," she said, as though this were the most ordinary conversation in the world.

"I don't think –"

She interrupted him again. "It looks like you need it," she said, throwing a meaningful look at the laptop.

He opened his mouth to protest but she interrupted him yet again, "Look, all I need you to do is come to lunch with me and my dad and be my inappropriate boyfriend and I'll pay you five hundred dollars."

"What's so inappropriate about me?" Harry objected, knowing as he did how unkempt he must look. She gave his unshaven face and cargo shorts a long, disdainful look.

"You know, you could try being a little nicer to someone you're trying to get to play your fake boyfriend."

"Whatever." She waved a dismissive hand, "I think five hundred dollars is nice enough. Let's go."

"I never said I'd do it!" Harry argued, but the girl had already turned her back to him and started back toward the brunette girl, who was now at the front of the line.

"What are you having?" The dark haired girl asked Harry when he caught up with her, hastily trying to fit his laptop back into his messenger bag.

"What?" He asked, confused.

"What are you having?" She repeated, indicating the waiting barista.

"Oh… uhh, I'm fine, thanks," he replied.

The brunette girl removed the phone from her ear long enough to order a filter coffee and a soy latte, with an extra shot and caramel drizzle.

"I'm Pansy." The dark haired girl finally introduced herself, "And this is Penelope, my assistant."

The brunette offered him a sympathetic smile, but the phone was already firmly reattached to her ear.

"Harry." Harry introduced himself in return.

As soon as their drinks were ready Pansy turned and swept from the Starbucks without a backwards glance, leaving Penelope to fumble with the two drinks and the phone now wedged between her shoulder and her ear. Harry took one of the drinks from her, already realising he had probably agreed to an undertaking that was far more trouble than it was worth.

A large black town car was idling on the pavement, Pansy slid inside, motioning for Harry to follow her. Penelope joined them, closing the door behind her, and Harry handed Pansy her drink. She had finally removed her sunglasses, and Harry thought she looked familiar, although he couldn't place her.

She turned to him after taking a long sip of her coffee. "Okay," she said, "we need to get our story ready."

"Okay?" Harry replied.

"We met through a friend of a friend, we've been together five months –"

"Why a friend of a friend?" Harry asked.

"Please." Pansy scoffed, "My father will never believe that you know any of my friends, or I yours."

"Of course," Harry replied sarcastically. "Do go on."

"We've been together five months." Pansy continued, "It's starting to get serious, we're thinking of moving in together."

"I assume we're locked in a dire argument over a luxury penthouse verses sensible apartment." Harry quipped.

Pansy rolled her eyes and didn't respond.

"I suppose we should know a little about each other," she said instead. "I'm 24, I've just finished my first year of a graduate degree in fashion design, and I have investments in several start-up companies –"

"Of course you do," Harry muttered, rolling his eyes. Pansy glared at him.

"And you?" She prompted.

"25," Harry replied. "Final year of grad school; film production."

"Mmm." Pansy pressed her glossy lips together and eyed his cargo shorts again.

The phone that seemed to be an additional appendage of Penelope rang in her hand and she answered it quickly.

"Miss Parkinson?" She interrupted Pansy's critical appraisal of Harry, "Your father is on the phone."

Pansy rolled her eyes and accepted the phone from Penelope, Harry barely heard her greeting, however; he was too shocked. He had just realised why Pansy looked familiar – her father was the state Senator.

"Hello? … It's in my bag. … Probably because it's on silent. … Yes, we're on our way. … No, we won't be late. … I'm bringing my boyfriend. … Why? – Because you wouldn't have agreed to it. … Well I – … Yes, I am perfectly aware of that. … Harry. … I know. … I love you too. … Okay. … Goodbye."

Pansy hung up the phone with an exasperated sigh and handed it back to Penelope.

"Your father's a Senator," Harry said.

"Yes," Pansy confirmed.

"You didn't tell me who you were," Harry said, his tone, however, wasn't accusatory.

"It didn't seem relevant," Pansy replied evenly.

Harry raised his eyebrows and Pansy's lips quirked into a small smile.

"Okay, maybe it was a little relevant," she agreed. "I didn't think you would agree if I told you."

"I hardly agreed without you telling me," Harry replied grouchily.

"Yet here you are." Pansy smiled slyly.

The drive wasn't a long one and soon the car was pulling up to a grand set of gates.

"I thought we were going for lunch with your dad?" Harry asked, suspicious.

"We are," Pansy replied with a smile, sliding the sunglasses back onto her face. "This is his home." The car door was opened and Pansy climbed out before Harry could protest that this was not at all what he had signed up for.

"Pansy!" An ageing white man with dark greying hair stepped forward to greet his daughter.

"Daddy." Pansy accepted her father's embrace and kissed him on both cheeks. "This is Harry." She motioned to Harry, who had followed her out of the car and now stood awkwardly a few paces behind her.

Harry watched as Mr Parkinson's eyebrows twitched almost imperceptibly and stepped forward, offering him his hand in greeting. "Mr Parkinson, Harry Potter. It's a pleasure to meet you."

"Mm." Mr Parkinson took Harry's hand and shook it. "I'm sure I can say the same for you." He turned to Pansy, "I'm sure you two will be perfectly comfortable sharing your room. All of the guest rooms are occupied."

"Share a room?" Harry blurted, forgetting his manners.

"You are here for the garden party tomorrow, are you not?" Mr Parkinson asked.

"Of course we are," Pansy replied before Harry could open his mouth.

"You didn't tell me we were staying overnight, babe," Harry muttered in an undertone to Pansy.

"Well if I had, you wouldn't have agreed to come," Pansy replied with a forced smile.

"I don't have an overnight bag," Harry said.

"No matter." Mr Parkinson, who had been watching this exchange with an unreadable expression, clapped his hands together, "Penelope, will you be so good as to go into town and pick up Mr Potter some… cargo shorts." He eyed Harry coldly, his eyes taking pause at his frayed t-shirt and grubby shorts. "Casey."

A girl who was stood on the steps that led up to the house hurried forward.

"Help Miss Parkinson with her bags, please. I assume you remember where your old room is Pansy."

Pansy rolled her eyes, "Yes, dad. We'll be down for lunch."

Pansy led Harry and Casey up the steps into a grandiose foyer, up colossal staircases, and down enough corridors that Harry completely lost his bearings. Finally, the group came to a halt outside a door with several small marks that suggested it had previously had a collection of mementoes pasted to it.

Pansy opened the door and Harry followed her into the room, it was darkly decorated, with a large dark-wooded bed against a single wall of floral wallpaper. A green velvet sofa sat at the foot of the bed, an arched window-paned mirror atop the vanity had several photographs tucked into its frame.

Harry stepped awkwardly into the room after Pansy, who had headed immediately for the sofa, stopping only to set her handbag on a small side table. Casey set Pansy's overnight bag on the bed and began to unpack it, and Harry wandered over to the vanity to examine the photos and trinkets that were scattered across it.

The photos all seemed to feature Pansy with the same group of friends; there were several of her with a boy whose hair was a pale as Pansy's was dark – including a prom photo. Dark green and gold trinket dishes held rings and bobby pins, and a bottle of decadent looking perfume sat beside an equally extravagant looking candle.

"I'll do that," Pansy told Casey, who was hanging an orange-red dress in a large armoire. "I'm sure Harry wants a moment to get settled in."

Harry had been so overwhelmed by the house that he had completely forgotten how angry he was with Pansy, he was now reminded in full force.

Pansy, however, didn't seem to consider that perhaps Harry had a problem with her deception; the door closed behind Casey but Pansy still busied herself with unpacking her bag and didn't even glance in Harry's direction.

"You told me we were going for lunch with your father!" Harry accused as Pansy smoothed a blouse she was hanging.

"Don't get your knickers in a twist." She quipped, "We'll be going down for lunch in just a minute."

"It's not the lunch I'm worried about," Harry sputtered. "You didn't tell me we would be staying overnight!"

"Well, I didn't think you'd agree to it." Pansy reasoned.

"Of course I wouldn't have agreed to it!" Harry exclaimed.

"Oh calm down won't you." Pansy finally quit her unpacking and turned to look at him, "I'll pay you another thousand dollars if it bothers you that much."

"Four thousand." Harry countered.

Pansy raised an eyebrow, "Are you really bartering with me right now?" She asked, "You know my father has a lot of powerful friends, the party tomorrow would be a great place to network."

"Great, whilst I'm wearing cargo shorts and playing the inappropriate boyfriend. Four thousand." He repeated.

"You only have to play the part in front of my father," Pansy replied. "Two thousand." She countered.

"Four," Harry repeated.

Pansy sighed, "You really don't understand how to barter, do you? I'll give you two and a half."

"Four," Harry replied.

"Two and a half, and I'll throw in a new suit at the tailor's tomorrow morning."

"I don't want your stupid suit." Harry scoffed, his anger rising at her obstinance.

Pansy raised her eyebrows again, "Trust me, you'll want it," she said.

Harry and Pansy returned downstairs hand in hand, much to Harry's chagrin, and were shown into an intimate, but still extravagantly decorated, dining room. Pansy's father was already seated at the table and he rose to greet them.

After he had agreed to her ridiculous offer of a suit in lieu of payment, Pansy had given Harry a crash course in upsetting her father – something Harry thought he was doing quite well on his own just through his lowly appearance – but he had listened to the monologue without interrupting.

His recent lesson still fresh in his mind, Harry sat immediately, not offering Pansy a seat or waiting for her father to sit first. "This looks great!" He said, helping himself to a large serving of salad whilst Pansy and her father sat down.

"Your house is crazy," he continued, turning to Pansy's father. "Or should I say mansion? God this thing must've cost a fortune!"

"Thank you," Robert replied stiffly, offering Pansy the salad.

"So what's this party tomorrow all about?" Harry asked, "Pansy didn't mention it to me."

"I always throw a garden party around this time of year to celebrate the beginning of summer." Robert said, "A lot of my good friends will be in attendance."

"So it's not about your re-election campaign?" Harry asked before he had fully swallowed his mouthful. "I imagine stuff like that gets all the influential ones on your side – greasing a few palms, so to speak?"

"I will not be up for re-election for another two years." Pansy's father replied coldly.

Robert effectively changed the subject by asking Pansy how her schooling and business conquests were going, as she chattered away Harry thought how it was really quite impressive what she'd accomplished; Senator's daughter or not. Instead of voicing this opinion, however, he rolled his eyes.

"You don't find Pansy's achievements impressive?" Robert asked sharply, noticing the eye roll.

"Daddy." Pansy cautioned.

"She hardly has to work very hard with you backing her," Harry replied.

"On the contrary," Robert replied, "Pansy works twice as hard to prove that she is a capable businesswoman in her own right."

"Whatever you say," Harry said, in a tone that implied he didn't believe it for a second.

"And what is it that you do, Mr Potter?" Pansy's father asked in a tight voice.

"I'm studying film production," Harry said.

"Do you have a job?" Mr Parkinson asked when Harry didn't expand.

"Yeah, I uh, work in a jazz bar," Harry replied, glancing at Pansy. "I play the piano."

Pansy's eyebrows lifted an almost imperceptible amount.

"You pay your own way through school?" Robert asked.

"Dad! Stop grilling him." Pansy protested.

"I pay my tuition out of the money my parents left me," Harry replied, ignoring Pansy's protests. "And I live off of what I make."

"Hmm." Was Mr Parkinson's only response.

Pansy frowned at this, throwing a confused glance Harry's way but he didn't seem to notice.

"I'm taking Harry to the tailor after lunch," Pansy said, setting down her fork. "He doesn't have a suit for the party."

"And you're going to buy him one?" Robert asked, the disapproval clear in his voice.

"I don't see why not," Pansy said primly, wiping her mouth with her napkin.

Harry glanced down and realised he had never taken his napkin from the table.

The rest of lunch passed in an equally awkward manner, Harry forced himself to make as many inappropriate comments as he could stomach and, by the end of the meal, Mr Parkinson could barely look at him.

"I have to hand it to you," Pansy crowed as she led him back to her room after lunch, "that was amazing! Have you ever considered acting?"

"What are you two even arguing about?" Harry asked. She'd taken his hand in front of her father and still hadn't let go. "It must be pretty bad if you're resorting to this."

"Hmm, I don't remember," Pansy said lightly, throwing open her bedroom door and pulling him inside.

"You don't remember?" Harry asked.

"Nope," Pansy replied, popping the p.

"Wow," Harry said in shock.

"I'll just change then we can go get your suit," Pansy said, seemingly unconcerned at what Harry found so shocking. "You can shower if you want, you kind of smell." She wrinkled her nose at him.

It was an especially charming nose, and an especially charming gesture, Harry pushed this thought down as soon as it came to him and tried to recall how appalling he'd found her that morning. "Thanks," he said grudgingly as she pointed him towards the shower.

When Harry emerged from the bathroom, hair damp and smelling of cinnamon, Pansy was lounging on the sofa dressed in a silky one-shouldered top and a pair of pale blue jeans. Her hair was still in the same knot and the obnoxiously large sunglasses had found their way onto her face again.

"Took your time," she said, tucking her phone into her back pocket. "Come on, let's go."

This time when she led him through the maze of hallways Harry thought he recognised at least a quarter of the trip.

A car was already idling for them in front of the colossal house and Harry wondered how people ever got used to such luxury. He wondered if Pansy had grown up rich or if it was a more recent venture; judging from her boarding school cultivated accent it was the former.

They climbed into the car and this time no Penelope joined them.

They were silent for a few minutes before Pansy spoke. "What you said earlier," she said, "about your parents, are they…?"

"Dead?" Harry finished, and she nodded colouring a little.

"Yeah," he replied. "When I was one."

"I'm sorry," Pansy replied. "Do you miss them?"

"Yes," Harry said. "My aunt and uncle raised me, my mum's sister. They weren't very nice to me. What about your mum?" He asked, "Where's she?"

"My parents divorced when I was ten," Pansy replied. "She lives in Singapore, sends a card every Christmas, and birthday if she remembers it." She added as an afterthought.

"Is she from Singapore?" Harry asked.

"No, Korea," Pansy replied. "I was born in Paris though."

"I was born right here in Washington," Harry said. "I've never been anywhere else."

"Not even a state over?" Pansy asked.

Harry rolled his eyes, of course she couldn't comprehend that the ability to travel was a luxury. "Nope," he replied. "My aunt and uncle took my cousin to Disney World once but they left me with our crazy old neighbour Mrs Figg."

"Perhaps we'll go to Disney World for our six month anniversary," Pansy said with a wicked grin. "It is next month after all."

"Ah yes," Harry replied. "On the thirteenth."

"The sixteenth you idiot." Pansy admonished with a laugh.

"Oh," Harry replied with an overly dramatic sigh. "Just another instance of me being an awful boyfriend."

"Yes, I'm starting to wonder what I ever saw in you."

"It was my dashing good looks of course," Harry replied.

Pansy wrinkled her nose at him again and Harry had to look away to avoid blushing.

The car drew to a halt outside a shop proclaiming itself to be ‘Ollivander's Tailoring' and Pansy bustled Harry from the car to the shop with the practised efficiency of one who had done so many times before. Harry vaguely wondered how many boyfriends, real or otherwise, she had made over to suit her lifestyle.

At first, the shop seemed to be empty, Harry looked around in wonderment at the rows of suits, shirts and ties. Then, a man emerged from the shadows at the back of the shop, he looked to be so old that Harry was shocked he was even standing, let alone walking with such a spritely step.

"Miss Parkinson." He greeted warmly, clasping one of Pansy's hands between both of his and kissing her cheek.

"Mr Ollivander." Pansy returned the warmth, "This is my boyfriend Harry Potter."

"Pleasure to meet you," Harry said awkwardly, shaking the old man's hand.

"Harry needs a suit for the garden party tomorrow," Pansy said. "Do you have anything suitable that could be altered?"

"I'm sure we can find something back here," Mr Ollivander said. "Marianne."

Immediately a young girl hurried forward, led Harry to a pedestal surrounded by mirrors at the back of the shop and began taking his measurements.

"Now, Miss Parkinson, what colour are you wearing tomorrow?" Mr Ollivander asked, resting Pansy's hand in the crook of his elbow.

"Red," Pansy replied. "Tomato red." She corrected, reaching out to finger a glossy pair of brogues.

"Ah yes," Mr Ollivander said. "I believe we have just the thing."

"You're a miracle worker, Mr Ollivander," Pansy said to the elderly man, who glowed under her praise, as they left his shop a little over an hour later with the promise of Harry's suit and shoes being delivered directly to them the next morning.

When they returned a small pile of men's clothes around Harry's size was waiting for them on Pansy's bed. Grateful to be out of his sweat-soaked shorts Harry gathered them up and retreated to the bathroom to change. When he emerged again, finally feeling clean, Pansy was sat on the sofa, feet tucked underneath her, sketching in a large sketchbook. A tray with a pot of tea and two mugs sat on the side table.

"Help yourself," Pansy said, barely glancing up and motioning to the tea.

"Thanks," Harry replied. "Do you want some?"

"Please," she said. "Milk and one sugar."

"What are you working on?" Harry asked her, joining her on the sofa.

"Just sketching some ideas for my History of Fashion and Textiles class," she replied. "What was it you were working on earlier? In Starbucks?" She clarified.

"Ah," he said. "My proposal for my thesis."

"Was it saved anywhere?" She asked.

"Yeah, I don't remember when I last saved it though."

"You can work on it on my laptop if you need." She offered, setting her sketchbook aside.

Harry accepted the offer and she retrieved the computer for him from her vanity, thankfully he had only lost a couple of hundred words to his laptop malfunction. Surprisingly, they worked in comfortable silence for a good few hours, interrupted only by Pansy asking Harry to look up certain things for her and by Harry complaining that she was poking her feet under his bum and distracting him.

"What do you want to do for dinner?" Pansy asked eventually, setting the sketchbook aside and stretching like a cat, "My father's entertaining the people who are staying with us for the party but we don't have to join them."

"What are our options?" Harry asked, also setting his work aside.

"Pretty much whatever we want," she replied. "We can go out or stay in."

"Thank you for narrowing it down," Harry said rolling his eyes at her. "I guess I'd rather stay in – I bet you're a pain at restaurants as well."

Pansy narrowed her eyes, "In what way?"

"You probably send everything back seven times before you eat it," he replied.

"If food isn't cooked properly I shouldn't have to eat it." She retorted primly.

"And I'm sure you don't," Harry replied with a chuckle.

Pansy rolled her eyes, "What are you in the mood for?" She asked.

"What would you be eating if I weren't here?" Harry responded.

"Probably Korean." Pansy confessed, "Our chef makes really good bulgogi. It's marinated beef stir-fried with vegetables."

"Sounds good to me," Harry replied easily.

Half an hour later the two of them were sat perhaps a little too comfortably on a large sofa in one of the many living rooms in what Harry was convinced was a small village rather than a house. Pansy's legs were thrown across Harry's lap, a glass of red wine in her hand, and they were arguing emphatically about what to watch on Netflix.

"Why can't we just watch a show?" Harry asked for probably the third time.

"Because," Pansy said, her tone exasperated, "you don't watch any of the shows I watch and you can't just pick up a show mid-season! You wouldn't know what's going on."

"You can explain it to me." Harry pointed out.

"That's not the point!"

"I'm the one who'd be behind and I've already said I don't mind."

"Well I do," Pansy replied, gesturing a little too zealously with her wine glass. "Just pick a movie."

"I already tried to pick a movie." Harry retorted, "You shot down everything I suggested."

"That's because you only suggested trash!" Pansy replied, as though outraged at the implication that she was the one making this process difficult.

"I'm a film student!" Harry replied, "I think I should be the one to decide what is or isn't trash."

Pansy sniffed, "I think that just means you have a heightened sense of the weight of your own opinion."

Harry scoffed, "Oh, so like you in every single matter in your daily life then? What kind of movies do you watch?" He asked before Pansy could reply.

"Crime stuff mostly," Pansy replied without looking at him. "You know, clever stuff."

Harry scoffed again, "Films don't need to be clever to be good."

Pansy jostled his arm with her foot, "Yeah – if they did you wouldn't understand them." She retorted, sticking her tongue out at him.

Harry rolled his eyes at her, holding her legs still with right hand whilst reaching for his own wine glass with the left.

"We should just flip a coin to pick a movie," he said once he was comfortably re-situated on the sofa.

"We would have to have two options for that." Pansy pointed out, "Which we don't. Let's just watch a movie we'll both hate equally," she said.

"That seems like a terrible compromise," Harry replied.

"No. It's perfect," Pansy replied as the door to the living room opened and Casey entered carrying a tray, which she set down on the coffee table in front of them.

"Casey," Pansy greeted her with a smile wide enough that Harry thought she was maybe slightly tipsy, "what movie would Harry and I both hate?"

"If I had to list all the movies you'd hate Miss Parkinson, I'm afraid we'd be here all night," Casey replied. "As for Mr Potter, I really couldn't say."

Pansy waved a dismissive hand, "Harry has terrible taste – he probably hates everything."

Casey smiled again, "Enjoy your meal," she said and retreated from the room.

"This is truly awful." Pansy hollered at the screen as the credits rolled, taking a gulp of her wine.

They'd given in to Pansy's idea and watched a rom-com they'd both thought sounded hideous; they'd spent the movie getting progressively drunker and mocking the film together.

Harry laughed. "You know, I think you were right about choosing something we'd both hate."

"What was that?" Pansy said with a smug smile.

"You're insufferable," Harry replied.

"No, I think you said I was right, actually," Pansy said, her smile growing wider.

"Hmm, I don't recall that actually."

"Oh?" Pansy said, "How convenient for you."

"You can't prove it!" Harry replied, his hands moving from her legs and reaching for her waist.

Pansy set her wine glass aside and tried to wriggle away from his grip but he pulled her closer, digging his fingers into her side.

"Stop it!" Pansy squirmed, kicking him in the side in an attempt to free herself. "Get off of me!" She repeated, grabbing his hands and prying them away from her waist, "That tickles."

"It's supposed to," Harry replied with a grin, giving her hands in his a tug.

Pansy, in a precarious kneeling position, went flying forwards straight into Harry's lap, only saving herself from head-butting him in the face by bracing herself with an arm on the back of the sofa – although, in hindsight, she thought, he'd probably have deserved it.

Pansy caught her breath and looked up, their faces were very close together. The credits music from the movie had faded into the background.

The door opened.

"Daddy!" Pansy said, dropping into the sofa beside Harry and putting a good amount of space between them. "How was your dinner?"

Harry let his hands, which had been on Pansy's waist to steady her, fall to his side, and tried not to look as though he was a child who had just been caught doing something he shouldn't.

"It was good, thank you, sweetheart. I hope you're not planning on staying up too late," Robert replied, eyeing the wine glasses on the table, "we have a busy day tomorrow."

"Of course not," Pansy said, not looking at Harry. "We were just going to… we were just about to turn in."

Pansy's father retreated and in his wake blossomed a wave of awkward silence.

"I'll uh, I'll get these," Harry said, gathering the plates and wine glasses up in his arms.

"Oh," Pansy said, grabbing the wine bottle, "I'll show you where the kitchen is."

"Just one?" Harry joked.

"Ha ha," Pansy replied, rolling her eyes and leading him out of the sitting room.

Harry had given very little thought to the complications of their sleeping arrangement until they returned back to Pansy's room and his eyes fell on the singular bed. He looked to the sofa, it was perfectly comfortable to sit on but it was narrow and didn't look long enough to sleep Pansy comfortably, let alone Harry who was a good few inches taller.

Pansy seemed unconcerned, or unaware, of the issue that faced them and was already stripping off the leggings she had changed into earlier. Harry turned away from her, realising as he did so that the few clothes Penelope had purchased for him hadn't included anything sensible to sleep in.

"Do you have a blanket?" He asked Pansy, still not looking at her, attempting to arrange the cushions on the sofa into a sensible sleeping arrangement.

"Hmm?" She replied, slightly louder than necessary.

"A blanket." He repeated. He could probably get away with just sleeping in the t-shirt and boxers he was wearing.

"You're not sleeping on the sofa!" Pansy replied, having looked up to see what he was talking about. "Jesus, Harry, the bed's plenty big enough – besides, I don't think you'd fit."

Harry looked up at her, she was sitting cross-legged atop the comforter, wearing a large black t-shirt emblazoned with the Vogue logo, wiping at her face with a makeup wipe.

"Penelope didn't get me a toothbrush," Harry said lamely, trying not to look at her bare legs.

"Then use mine," Pansy replied, waving towards the bathroom.

Halfway through brushing his teeth, Pansy joined him in the bathroom to wash her face, her polka dot sleeping shorts now visible beneath the hem of her shirt.

"You wear cargo shorts to sleep as well?" She asked him with a smirk.

Harry glared at her reflection in the mirror. Pansy glared back at him.

"What?" Harry said, spitting a stream of minty foam into the sink.

"I need my toothbrush," she replied, folding her arms.

"What? This toothbrush?" He asked, holding it up.

"Yes, that toothbrush," she said with an exasperated sigh.

"Ah, that sure is a shame," he said with an easy smile.

"Harry." Pansy frowned, "Give it to me."

"Oh sure," Harry replied with a grin. "Just come and take it," he said, lifting the brush above his head. He wasn't that much taller than Pansy, but tall enough.

Pansy reached her arm up to try and grab the toothbrush to but no avail; standing on tip-toes she wrapped her arms around Harry's elbow and tried to tug his arm towards her to grab the brush out of his hand.

Harry looked down; their faces were very close together. Pansy met his eyes…

And kneed him in the stomach.

Harry doubled over and Pansy grabbed the toothbrush out of his hand, practically cackling as she danced away from him.

"Jesus _fuck_ that hurt." He cursed, gasping and clutching his abdomen.

"Did it?" Pansy asked, "Shame."

Harry left the bathroom, grumbling and eyed the bed again. Taking an educated guess that Pansy favoured the left side of the bed he peeled off his shorts, with a glance behind him at the bathroom door, and climbed into the right side.

He was fiddling with her phone when he came out of the bathroom, trying not to look like an expectant high schooler about to lose their virginity whilst his parents were out of town. Pansy closed the bathroom door behind her, flipping the light switch off and circled the bed.

She climbed into the bed beside him, phone in hand, not bothering to glance up. She was right – the bed was plenty big enough, they could have fit a whole other person in between them.

"Breakfast will be until ten tomorrow," she said, still not looking up from her phone screen. "Night."

"Aren't you going to…?" Harry asked, but was saved finished his question when she tapped a button on her phone screen and the lights turned off, her face illuminated by the blue glow emanating from the screen.

"Of course." Harry rolled his eyes although she couldn't see him.

Pansy's phone screen went black and they were plunged into total darkness, Harry heard her shifting as she placed the device on the bedside table and settled into the mattress beside him.

"Your bed is ridiculously huge," Harry said, in an attempt to dissuade an awkward silence, his hand reaching out across the cool space between them.

"I'm here," came her voice in reply. A hand closed around his and he pulled her towards him, she rested her head on his shoulder, her arm snaking around his waist and her toes brushed his shin.

"Your hair's tickling me," Harry said after a few moments of silence.

Pansy huffed but she didn't sound very annoyed.

Harry awoke the next morning to the sound of curtains rattling open and sunlight on his face. For a moment he didn't realise where he was then he remembered. The bed next to him was empty and Harry peered bleary-eyed to see who had woken him, Casey was in the process of opening all the windows as loudly as possible, seemingly determined not to let Harry sleep another moment.

"Good morning," she said as he sat up. "There's tea and coffee on the table. I didn't know which you'd prefer."

"Pansy…?" Harry clambered out of bed, rubbing the bleariness from his eyes.

"She's in the gym," Casey replied. "I can show you the way if you want to get in a quick workout, but you really should be heading down to breakfast soon."

"The gym…" Harry repeated, sleep fogging his brain. He poured himself a cup of coffee from the cafetiere on the tray and heaped two sugars into the mug.

"Yes," Casey replied. "She should be back soon. Is there anything I can get for you?"

"I, uh, what time is it?" Harry asked, uncomfortably aware that he was only in his boxers and shirt and Casey was fully dressed and awake.

"Just before 8:30," Casey replied.

"Right," Harry said, looking around the room for his messenger bag. "Have you seen my phone?"

"I believe it's plugged in by the vanity," said Casey. Harry rounded the coffee table and found that she was right.

"Thanks," he said unplugging the phone and retreating – it and the coffee in hand – to the bed, more to regain some modesty than anything else.

Pansy entered the room as Casey was plumping the cushions on the sofa that Harry was sure weren't out of place to begin with. She was wearing a pale pink pair of leggings and a black sports bra and her chest was glistening with sweat.

"Oh, you're finally awake," she said, not sounding a bit out of breath.

"Finally?" Harry replied. "It's only 8:30."

"Exactly." She quipped, running a hand over her pulled back hair and looking around the room, "Morning Casey," she chirped when her eyes fell on the girl.

"Good morning Miss Parkinson," Casey replied. "Your father is expecting you for breakfast in half an hour."

"I'll just hop in the shower then," Pansy said with an easy smile disappearing into the bathroom.

"Is there anything else you need Mr Potter?" Casey asked, pausing beside the door.

"No, thank you, Casey," Harry said, and she slipped out of the room with a parting smile.

Harry picked through the clothes Penelope had bought for him the day before, the sound of the shower running in the background, in search of something suitable to wear to breakfast. Beyond that, there wasn't much he could do with Pansy occupying the bathroom so he poured himself another cup of coffee and settled on the sofa Casey had just straightened to reply to his texts.

 _‘All good, how's ur paper going?'_ He replied to a text from Hermione about his thesis proposal.

The water cut off and a few minutes later Pansy emerged from the bathroom wearing an altogether too flimsy robe, drops of water from her hair dampening the shoulders and running down her chest disappearing between her breasts under the silk. Harry stared resolutely at his feet, gathering up the clothes he'd chosen and skirting around Pansy to the bathroom door. He wasn't sure if she sniggered at him or if he'd imagined it.

When Harry returned from the bathroom Pansy was sitting cross-legged on the bed in a pale blue lace bra and matching underwear

"Jesus, Pans, do you have to walk around naked all the time?"

"Firstly, I am not walking around," she said calmly, looking up from her phone. "Secondly, this is my bedroom I am entitled to be as naked as I please. And thirdly," she continued when he opened his mouth to interrupt her, "it would be rude to deny you the view."

"Bet you'd never have guessed being my fake boyfriend was this fun," she said with a wicked smile when he only spluttered in response.

"We're going to be late for breakfast," he finally replied, trying to sound exasperated rather than flustered.

"Father would hate that," Pansy said, still grinning.

"You're a veritable menace," Harry replied. "Put some clothes on."

"If you're sure," she replied, a finger tracing an edge of her bra.

Harry rolled his eyes and tried to ignore the heat rising to his face.

As predicted Pansy's father and several other clone-like men were already seated in a dining room slightly larger and – if possible, more lavishly decorated than the one they'd eaten lunch in the day before – when Harry and Pansy entered hand in hand.

"Pansy, Mr Potter," Robert greeted them. "I trust you both slept well."

"Perfectly thank you, father," Pansy replied for them both. "Good morning. Gentlemen."

"Boys, this is Pansy's boyfriend Harry Potter." Robert introduced him, seeming to struggle with the term.

"Pleasure." Harry greeted them all, reaching to pull a chair out for Pansy before remembering himself and drawing back.

Pansy looked almost as uncomfortable as he felt, sitting down quickly before he could make any further move and pouring herself a cup of coffee.

"So, how did you two lovebirds meet?" A man who had been introduced to him as some sort of oil tycoon asked through a mouthful of bacon. Pansy's forehead creased an almost imperceptible amount.

"Through a, uh, friend of a friend," Harry replied awkwardly.

"Which friend would that be?" Another of the politician clones asked.

"Millicent Bulstrode," Pansy replied evenly.

"Oh, Miss Bulstrode – I know her family," a third piped up. "Her father and I were at Dartmouth together. Top man. Will she be joining us today?"

"Millie?" Pansy replied, "Yes, I believe so."

"Some of Pansy's other friends will be here, also." Robert added, "Draco is coming, as are Mr Nott and Daphne Greengrass."

"Ah, Draco!" The oil tycoon exclaimed. "Now that's a topping young man. And what is Lucius up to these days? I trust we'll be seeing him later on, along with his charming wife?"

Harry had never felt more out of place than amongst this privileged group, which seemed to be almost a secret society with everybody knowing everybody else.

By the time Harry and Pansy returned to the latter's bedroom Harry understood why rich people drank consistently throughout the day – it was because they all hated each other. Pansy didn't look nearly as putout as Harry although the crease on her forehead had remained throughout breakfast – however, she probably had far more experience with these sorts of people. Harry resisted the urge to smooth it flat with the pad of his thumb.

A suit bag and shoebox emblazoned with Ollivander's logo were waiting for them, presumably delivered to the room by Penelope or Casey.

"We have a little time to kill," Pansy said, dropping into the velvet sofa. "I'll go over the guest list with you."

"Oh, yay me," Harry replied sarcastically.

Pansy raised her eyebrows at him. "This is important," she said. "Everyone who will be here is someone. You should know who they are."

It took the better part of forty minutes for Pansy to read through the entire guest list and explain to Harry who everyone was, by the end of it Harry felt as though he'd been cramming for an exam not prepping for a party.

He was saved only by the arrival of a makeup artist and hair stylist who appeared to get Pansy ready. Harry bit the inside of his cheek to refrain from making any comment.

"Fhausi, see if you can do something with Harry's hair," she said, gesturing at him. Her own short hair had been plaited in a way that it looked like one long braid running around her entire head.

"What?" Harry protested, trying not to sound panicked.

"Oh calm down, Potter. He's a hair stylist, not a murderer," Pansy said with an eye roll.

Reluctantly, Harry seated himself on the sofa to allow Fhausi, who was shorter even than Pansy, access to his head.

Finally, Harry was allowed to put his suit on – Pansy had forbidden him to put it on any earlier claiming he would crease it irreparably. It was a light beige summer suit, with an orange-red lining to the jacket that complimented Pansy's dress. Looking in the mirror, Harry had to admit the colours suited his dark skin – although, he looked slightly too close to the kind of frat boy douchebag who'd drag raced people in his fancy sports cars for fun for comfort.

Pansy herself was wearing a dress that wrapped around her like a robe and, in a surprising twist, had chosen to compliment it with delicate pearl jewellery. Her lipstick was the same shade as her dress and she pressed her lips together as she appraised Harry.

"Yes, good," she said finally. "Let's go."

Harry rolled his eyes, "Yes, and you look gorgeous too," he said sarcastically. Was he imagining it or did Pansy blush?

The staff were still bustling around, putting the final touches to the house and expansive gardens when the pair arrived downstairs. Mr Parkinson ran a critical eye across Harry's suit and the lining that perfectly matched Pansy's dress, but made no comment. They had been hand in hand almost all morning, and this continued as Pansy grabbed them both a drink and introduced Harry to various reporters who were covering the party. She was vague about their attachment to each other, but the hand holding made it pretty obvious there was something going on.

Eventually, guests began to arrive and Harry watched Pansy's character snap from the witty, and surprisingly spontaneous girl he had been getting to know to Miss Parkinson, the smart, polite daughter of a senator. She shook countless hands, accepted kisses on the cheeks – always seeming to know whether the opposing party was going for one or two – laughed at all the right moments and blushed and teased on command.

"This is my boyfriend, Harry Potter," she repeated, each time with the same sweet, cloying smile. "He's a budding director."

And Harry would laugh and correct her that he was just a mere film student, and she would shake her head as though he were a simpleton and confide in their third party that he had more talent in his left pinkie finger than Quentin Tarantino in his whole body. Then the receiver of this sickly charade would take a second look at Harry, a proper look, repeat his name – Harry Potter you say? – and offer a card, or a name, or a promise of assistance.

Rinse and repeat.

It was a good hour of this ghastly performance, all the while pretending as though they weren't be watched by several eagle-eyed reporters and just as many nosy guests, until they were finally able to leave their post in search of drinks and Pansy's friends. The sun was beating down just as hot as the day before and Harry was growing immensely uncomfortable in his suit, thankful at least that he wasn't restricted further by a tie. To his surprise, Pansy led him straight past the bar without so much as a glance backwards.

"Where are we going?" He asked, confused.

"I need to get out of this damn heat for a minute." She grumbled, tugging on his hand.

They stepped into the blessedly cool house, other guests seemed to have had the same idea but Pansy wove her way through the crowd as quickly as possible and they slipped through the dining room into the kitchen. There were no other guests in this part of the house, only staff, whom Pansy barely acknowledged as they skirted the room and slipped into the pantry.

The room was cool and dark, and cramped. Pansy flipped on the light switch and produced a bottle of tequila from God-knows-where. She gave him a wicked grin as she hopped up onto the counter, balancing on the edge of the sink. Harry had to stand almost in between her legs, shelves and cupboards making the already small room barely big enough for the two of them.

The bottle was half full, the smooth golden liquid sloshing around enticingly as Pansy uncorked – of course – the bottle and took a gulp straight from it. She wiped a smudge of lipstick from the lip of the bottle before handing it to Harry, who followed suit with his own swig. He tried not to wince as it burnt its way down his throat and took another gulp.

Pansy's glossy red lips stretched into a smile as he handed the bottle back to her and Harry suddenly realised just how close together they were. One of her legs had curled slightly around his, her heel brushing the back of his knee. He wiped his mouth self-consciously and her eyes followed the movement.

"We, uh, they'll notice if we're gone too long. We should get back," Pansy said.

It was the first time Harry had heard her stumble over her words. Instead of moving, however, she took another swig from the bottle, tipping her head back exposing the long arch of her neck. Harry swallowed, his mouth dry. When Pansy withdrew the bottle from her lips a small droplet of tequila clung to the corner of his mouth before she could move to do so herself Harry lifted his hand and wiped it away carefully with his thumb.

The foot that was curled around Harry's knee pressed down, knocking him off balance and sending him pitching forward towards Pansy. She still had one hand wrapped around the neck of the bottle but the other wound around his neck and just like that, they were kissing. Harry's hands had gone to the counter either side of Pansy to brace himself when he stumbled, but now one wound itself around her waist, the other gripping her hip through the silky fabric of her dress. It wasn't a very long kiss, as soon as Harry pressed into it Pansy began to tilt back into the sink she was perched on the edge of – she shrieked, grabbing at Harry to stabilise herself and the tequila went skidding off the counter and shattered on the floor behind Harry's back. He hauled her out of danger, letting go only when she was firmly seated on the edge of the counter once more.

Pansy covered her mouth with her hand, "That was 300 dollar tequila," she confessed.

"I'll go and find something to clean it up," he said, turning to re-enter the kitchen.

"Wait!" She reached out a hand to stop him; "You have lipstick on your mouth."

"Oh," was the only response Harry's racing brain could come up with, and he let her wipe it off in silence.

She hopped down from the counter and followed him back into the kitchen without a word, stepping deftly over the shattered bottle. She left him with the unpleasant task of confessing to the mess they'd made and instead headed for the mirror in the hallway where she wiped carefully at her own mouth. Beyond this concern for her lipstick, she seemed unaffected by what had just occurred and she waited in the hall for Harry to join her, where she took his hand and led him back to the party without another word about it.

They were ambushed almost immediately after they returned to the garden by yet another political type: a man a little younger than Pansy's father, and his wife.

"Pansy!" The man greeted, and Pansy dropped Harry's hand to greet him.

"Mr Finch-Fletchley." She returned with a smile, "Maura." She greeted his wife with a more affectionate look. She didn't introduce Harry.

"My rapscallion of a son is around here somewhere," Mr Finch-Fletchley said, gesturing with his glass. "I know he'd love to see you." He added with a heavy wink.

Pansy smiled again, "Of course, I would love to see Justin," she replied. "I can introduce him to my boyfriend." She reached behind for Harry's hand and pulled him to her side, his hand automatically settled on her waist.

Mr Finch-Fletchley looked at Harry as though he hadn't noticed him before – in all fairness he may well not have, Harry had been doing what could only be described as skulking.

"I don't believe we've had the pleasure, m'boy," he said, offering Harry his sweaty hand, which he shook.

"I doubt it, sir," Harry replied. "Harry Potter, pleasure to meet you."

"Potter…" Mr Finch-Fletchley said as Harry greeted his wife. "Potter, Potter, Potter… Don't believe I know that name."

"No sir," Harry said. "Not yet."

Beside him Pansy raised an imperceptible eyebrow, a small grin sneaking across her face.

"If you'll excuse us Mr Finch-Fletchley, Maura," she said. "We'll be sure to keep an eye out for Justin." She took Harry's hand and led him firmly away.

Harry's phone buzzed in his pocket.

"Not in front of the reporters," Pansy said, almost automatically, before he could even reach for it.

"Isn't that exactly the sort of thing an inappropriate boyfriend would do?" Harry challenged, raising his eyebrows.

Her cheeks coloured, "Just… not in front of the reporters, okay." She repeated.

"Fine," he replied tartly, "I'll take it inside."

He kissed on the cheek for good measure before extracting his hand from hers and heading inside – she deserved at least to feel just as confused as he did about the whole situation.

The text was from Hermione.

_‘What on earth are u doing hand in hand w pansy Parkinson at her fathers political rally???'_

This was an obstacle Harry had not anticipated. He ducked into the empty hallway before replying.

_‘Technically it's a party not a rally'_

_‘Same difference, answer the question'_

_‘How do you even know?'_ he typed out, of course, it was just his luck that Hermione would see.

_‘I'm a politics student… did you really think you could hide this forever?'_

Before he could reply to this thinly veiled accusation, however, the door from the sitting room opened and Mr Parkinson stepped through. Harry shoved his phone back into his pocket as though he had been caught stealing something. Robert raised his eyebrows.

"Are you quite all right, Mr Potter?" he asked. "Not lost, I hope?"

"No, sir," Harry replied.

"It seems you're quite fond of lurking around off-limits areas of my house," Mr Parkinson said conversationally. "I do hope you're not planning on breaking anything else."

"I – we – it was an accident," Harry said lamely. "Sorry."

"Hmm," was the only response this merited. "Do go find my daughter, Mr Potter, before you make her look more of a fool than you already have by her bringing you here."

"She's not a fool." Harry snapped before he could stop himself.

"Not, it seems, until it comes to you," Robert replied, brushing past Harry in the direction of the kitchen before he could retort.

 _‘I haven't been hiding anything'_ he tapped out a quick reply to Hermione's text before returning outside. _‘I'll explain later it's a long story'_

When Harry located Pansy again, after being waylaid by several of the guests Pansy had bigged him up to earlier, she seemed to have finally found her friends. They were lounging on a large furniture set, a bottle of champagne on ice on the table in beside them. Pansy sat with her leg hooked around the ankle of the blond boy from the photographs in her room, he was mid story and she was giggling into her glass. A plump dark-haired girl in a pair of sea green wide-legged satin trousers reached for the bottle to top up her glass, and two more boys, both equally striking in opposite ways, sat on the sofa opposite. They looked like an ad campaign for being young and rich. Harry stood awkwardly a few paces away, unsure of what to do. The plump girl noticed him first.

"Oh! This is him!" She exclaimed as she returned the champagne to its ice bucket, "We were wondering where you'd gotten to."

Pansy glanced lazily over her shoulder, not even bothering to disentangle herself from the blond boy.

"We sent the Greengrasses to look for you." The plump girl continued, "They probably got _waylaid_." She injected this last word with some extra meaning that was lost on Harry but made Pansy snicker.

"Aren't you going to sit down?" Pansy asked after he made no move to join them.

"Uh, sure," Harry said as he did so, the last thing he felt was welcome.

"This is Millie," Pansy said, gesturing the girl in blue. She'd finally turned to face Harry but was still leaning into the blond boy in an all too familiar way.

"Malfoy." The boy spoke up, offering Harry the hand that wasn't resting on Pansy's waist. "Draco Malfoy."

Pansy rolled her eyes but said nothing.

"This is Blaise," she said, once Harry had shaken Draco's hand. "And this is Theo." She motioned the two boys on the opposite sofa.

"So, Pansy managed to keep you under wraps quite well," Millie said, leaning forward with a wink.

Harry glanced at Pansy, she narrowed her eyes an infinitesimal amount.

"Just wanted to keep me all to herself, I guess," he replied easily, draping a hand around Pansy's shoulders. Draco reluctantly released her.

When it became apparent Draco wasn't going to continue whatever story Harry had interrupted he stood. "Right," he said, "I'm gonna go get a drink – anyone want anything?" He asked although he had no intention of re-joining the group in a hurry.

"There's champagne…" Pansy protested, but Harry batted her protests aside.

"I want something stronger," he said, already starting in the direction of the bar.

"I don't know…" Harry said when the bartender asked him what he wanted. "You got anything stronger than piss and better tasting?"

A dark-haired girl beside him laughed, she was pretty, extremely pretty, with dark doe-like eyes and curly hair that reminded him of Hermione's.

"Get him another of these," she said to the bartender, sliding her cocktail glass full of an amber concoction down the bar towards Harry and following in its wake.

"You're Pansy Parkinson's boyfriend, right?"

"Yeah," Harry replied. "What is that?" He eyed the drink.

"A Manhattan," she said, smiling again. "Pansy usually drinks French martinis at these things – if you've been contracted to get her a drink too."

"No," Harry replied. "She's drinking champagne right now."

"You met her friends before?" The girl asked as the bartender set a second drink in front of them.

"Nope."

"Not going as planned?" She asked, sympathetically.

"On the contrary," Harry grumbled.

"Harry." Came a sharp interruption from behind them, "Babe."

Harry's jaw clenched as he turned to greet the girlfriend in question.

"Romilda," Pansy continued with a saccharine smile, "I'll thank you not to extort stories from my boyfriend. You know anything he said to you was off the record."

"You're a reporter." Harry realised.

"What are you so worried about Pansy? Is there a story to be found in your relationship?"

For the second time in ten minutes, Harry walked away.

"Harry!" Pansy called for the third time, finally catching up with him in the still deserted hallway.

"Oh my god, Pansy. What do you want from me now?" He rounded to face her.

"I… nothing. I don't know."

"You know what I want? I want to fucking go home. This is ridiculous, I never signed up to this bullshit. What? Reporters trying to seduce me at the bar to get the gossip on our non-existent relationship!"

"I'm sorry… Romilda's a… I'll make sure she doesn't print anything about us."

"It's not about Romilda." He sighed, rubbing a hand over his face. "Okay, it is. But it's everything else too."

"You're right," she said. "You should go. I'll write you a cheque and get John to drive you home."

"I don't want the stupid money."

"It's the least I can do," Pansy said. "After everything I've put you through. At least let me replace your broken laptop."

"No. Just –"

"Then what do you want, Harry?" She said, stepping towards him.

"Nothing! I don't want anything from you!" He shouted, retreating away from her.

The hand that had been reaching out to him dropped to her side.

"I'll write you a cheque." She repeated, "Whether you cash it or not is up to you."

"I'm gonna go grab my stuff."

"Do you need –?"

"I know the way." He snapped.

_What was he so mad about?_ Harry wondered as he gathered the few items of clothing he had come to Pansy's in. Really, he should change and leave this ridiculous suit here but she had no use for it and he didn't want to stay any longer than he had to. Sure, he didn't _like_ the way Pansy's father looked at him, or how his friends' eyes passed over him as soon as they realised his name wasn't one they knew. He didn't like how Draco had treated him as an outsider, although he was, or how Romilda had treated him like a fool – easy to extract information from. But mostly, he hated how indifferent Pansy was acting about the whole situation. He didn't want her fucking money because he had actually enjoyed spending time with her – and he'd thought she had been enjoying herself as well.

The door opened behind him as he came to this realisation and he turned in time to see Pansy slipping into the room, a small slip of paper in one hand.

He shook his head, "I don't fucking want it." He repeated.

"Okay," she set it down on the table beside the sofa. "What's wrong?" She said, approaching him, her eyes wide and reproachful.

"What's wrong, Pansy," he said, "Is that I like you. Despite all of this." He gestured around them.

She let out a small laugh, "Most people like me because of all this," she said. She rested her hands on his biceps, sliding them down until their fingers twined together, her eyes following their journey. When she looked up her lips were slightly parted.

Without thinking about it any longer, Harry pulled her towards him, wrapping his arms around her waist and kissed her.

Pansy raised herself up on her tiptoes, her arms winding around his neck, and opened her mouth.

When they broke apart she smiled. "You have lipstick on your mouth," she said.

Harry kissed her again.

**Author's Note:**

> check me out on [tumblr](https://graengrs.tumblr.com) if you want to know more about me & support my writing


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